


fling the emptiness out of your arms

by squeakymonster



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 23:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeakymonster/pseuds/squeakymonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison kills four people in Budapest, at least two of whom probably don't deserve it .</p>
            </blockquote>





	fling the emptiness out of your arms

Allison kills four people in Budapest, at least two of whom probably don’t deserve it. She calls Stiles on the throwaway phone he finally convinced her to use and tells him the job’s done.

He must hear something in her voice, though, because he gives her the next day off without preamble. Allison tells him sharply that she doesn’t need the time off, there’s nothing wrong with her. Stiles dodges that by saying, “Fuck, Fury wants me,” like that’s not a hilarious double entendre and hangs up. Ten minutes later Lydia’s knocking on her window. Allison kind of wonders if Stiles has got her on, like, Hawkeye-watching duty. It wouldn’t exactly be unfair of him.

“Hey,” Lydia says, dangling a bottle of scotch in Allison’s face, “Mind if I come in?” And then she’s inside without Allison having said a word, dropping her six inch heels on the carpet and peeling her stockings off. Allison’s room is on the sixth floor, but Lydia’s always liked a challenge. Allison sometimes wonders why she makes things hard for herself when she doesn’t need to. Allison imagines herself more straightforward than that.

“No, come on in,” she says, as though it’s not a moot point already. “What’s up.”

Lydia rolls her eyes expressively. “Oh my god, Allison. I had a craving for goulash; you’re just a bonus.”

Allison raises her eyebrows. “What, the Quinjet picks up takeout now?”

“As if I got to take the Quinjet,” Lydia mutters, snorting. “You’re not that special, and I actually was in the area.”

“Okay,” Allison says. She wants it to be true badly enough to assume that Lydia is telling the truth. “So, any particular activities in mind?”

Lydia shrugs like she’s bored, but she looks directly at Allison. “I get you drunk, you spill your heart, Stiles writes it down in a nice neat report and submits it to the MedCenter, they force you to take some time off, you deal with your shit, you come back to work without all this crap. The guilt. The fear. People get a bit nervous around you when you’re scared, Allison.” Her voice is still light.

“Why?” Allison says, stalling, without thinking about it.

“People like you—and me, for that matter—we don’t do scared that well. We get vicious.” He voice has gotten soft, gentle, all of a sudden. Allison doesn’t trust it.

“We’re paid to be vicious, Lydia.” She turns away from her and falls onto the big king sized bed, lying on her stomach with her arms and legs akimbo.

“No, we’re paid to kill those who are not helpful to SHIELD’s enterprises, efficiently and neatly. We’re paid to kill people without letting our superiors, let alone fucking civilians, know about the muss and fuss involved.” Her voice is harsh, and Allison is grateful for the ugliness.

“Yeah, well. I’ve been doing that,” she says, letting her head drop into the pillow, “in case you hadn’t noticed. I kill who I’m supposed to.”

“You disemboweled a man today. Scotch?”

“He was too close for an arrow,” Allison mutters into her pillow. “I made one little mistake, and his bodyguard was—look, I had shitty intel, okay? Yell at Stiles instead. And no booze.”

“You used to hate that shit,” Lydia says, folding one knee under her to sit on the bed. “You liked it cleaner. Arrow to the eye, most elegant way of killing a man on the planet. Sit up to drink.”

Without pausing for thought, Allison levers herself over and up to accept the glass Lydia hands her. “It’s not about what I like. It’s about doing the job,” she says, downing the shot.

“You’re derailing the conversation,” Lydia says, taking the glass back and refilling it. She does two more for Allison, lining the shot glasses up on the night stand. “And, more to the point, you’ve been killing with unusual…roughness barely two months after shooting a teammate in the field.”

“Not fatally! Not even seriously!” Allison splutters around her drink. She pulls herself together, then continues. “Anyway. Like, is he really that stupid? Hasn’t he ever heard not to cheat on a SHIELD assassin. I mean, the fucker works with me. He knows I’m really fucking deadly. It was only professionalism that kept that man alive.”

“Professionalism?” Lydia asks, cocking a manicured eyebrow. “You used an arrow that burrowed itself into his flesh and then unfurled little spikes so it would harder to pick out.”

Allison knocks back her last scotch. “Not fatally! Not seriously! Lydia, I’m an assassin. I’m Stiles’s handpicked SHIELD assassin. We’re meant to be batshit insane, am I right?” She gestures expansively. It is possible that she’s starting to feel the effects of the scotch.

“I agree with you there, but Stiles is a little bit concerned. How about you take this,” Lydia carefully pours her out another scotch, “and these for the morning,” she adds, setting a couple Advil into Allison’s other hand, “and tell me all about it. I always knew that Mark was an asshole.”

“Then why didn’t you _tell me_?” Allison demands, crawling up to the head of the bed.

Lydia laughs like champagne bubbles and wraps an arm around Allison. “Allison,” she murmurs, “you wouldn’t have listened to me if I’d tried.”

“That’s probably true,” Allison nods happily. She shakes her head, then, and tucks her hair over one shoulder and behind her ears.

“Oh,” Lydia says, and then, cutting herself off, “Well, still. You’re being worrying, according to Stiles and the entire rest of the SHIELD psych team. And those guys are always right.”

Allison laughs. “Yep, absolutely. That’s why you haven’t taken a psych eval in half a decade. Because they are so fucking on the ball.”

“Just because I am a psychopath doesn’t mean all of us need to be,” Lydia says primly. “You snark your way through your evals, but they’re pretty clean.” Allison is pretty sure it’s a testament to their friendship that they’ve been watching each other’s mental states for going on ten years.

“It’s just,” she starts, then stops. “It’s just he was so good. To me. And, like…”

“Like what?” Lydia prompts, turning her head against Allison's forehead.

“What did I do wrong to lose him, you know? How did I fuck up that bad? Like, not just because I must have, have, done something bad to lose him, which, yes, probably, but because, like, what if I didn’t?”

“Excuse me?” Lydia asks, wrinkling her nose, but Allison continues.

“Like, if he really was just an asshole—which, y’know, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t, or wasn’t just—how did I end up trusting someone who was such a complete fuckwit?” Allison laughs weakly. She suddenly feels abandoned, absolutely alone.

Lydia must pick up on that somehow because she kisses Allison’s forehead gently. “Darling,” she says softly. That is the only endearment Lydia ever uses, the only one elegant enough for her mouth, Allison thinks distractedly, not holding onto this moment of tenderness like she should. “Darling, you are so ridiculous.”

“I know, right?” Allison swings back into cheerfulness. She nuzzles further up against Lydia’s neck. “I should just, like, take a vow of celibacy.”

“Hmmm, celibacy?” Lydia asks, feigning disinterest, but her voice is higher than normal.

“Mhm, celibacy. No more boys. Nope. Not for me.”

“Okay, then,” Lydia murmurs. “I can live with that.”

Allison pulls the blankets up over herself and says, “I think sleep now, celibacy tomorrow.” Lydia hold her until she falls asleep, clean and soft and safe, but she’s gone the next morning. The only evidence she was ever there is a tall glass of orange juice and a pair of slim black shades on the nightstand.


End file.
